


The Faceless Women

by LostBerryQueen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Caning, F/F, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:30:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostBerryQueen/pseuds/LostBerryQueen
Summary: Arya poses as a maid to watch Cersei and eventually kill her, but as she watches she realizes that she cannot kill the women who she is coming to love and understand.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "It's always changing, who we're supposed to love and who we're not. The only thing that stays the same is that we want who we want." --Ellaria Sand 

I brought her the wrong cookie on purpose. The one with the yellow frosting instead of the blue. I told myself it was an accident, but I couldn't quite believe that. I couldn't help myself, I couldn't suppress the desire welling up inside of me to test things.

She pushed me onto the bed and spanked me twice, wham, wham. I've been beat before. I don't remember feeling quite what I felt then. Maybe I have been aroused by cruelty before but forced myself not to notice, but this was different. Because it was Cersei. Her large strong hand, was only there for half a minute, but I became hyper aware of its texture as it touched me. And there was the warmth of the perfume, the smell of her presence and her voice like a butterfly taking flight from off of a flower. 

I wanted to hold onto my hatred, but in that moment, I saw her name fading off of the list. So consumed by the vision, I forgot to cry out and feign pain. But tears of emotion and awe did come to my eyes. 

"Child," she stepped away in shock. 

For a moment I wondered if I had projected my vision onto the air. 

"Look at me," she placed a hand on my shoulder and studied the tears in my eyes. "Have you been beat before? You're as stoic as if you've suffered through much pain."

"I have," I said breathless. "You could whip me with a cane, and I would make no noise." 

"Well, an ambitious promise. I think I might just have to test that theory."

I thought of needle, stowed beneath her bed. I had taken particular pleasure in keeping the weapon I would use to kill her so near to her. My skin felt as though it were peeling up at the edges with warmth and internal embarrassment, a private embarrassment that I shared only with myself, that _I_ just wanted to be closer to her. And needle was an extension of myself. 

Even though I had decided not to kill her, I still wanted to whip it out when I saw the cane. I wanted to dance with her, to fight her, but instead I let her press me onto the bed. I kept my promise as the first two strikes of the cane lashed across my legs. As the pain increased I delved deeper into my mind, my imaginary kingdom. The feel of wind against my feet, the swish of a gentle thin blade, the satisfying feel of blood on the end of it, traveling through my arm and my entire body as though my sword had nerves. I focused on those things, but could also feel, on the edges of my consciousness, the increasing pain of the cane. I heard Cersei's frustrated sighs, felt in the air how she became more concentrated. 

When I had become bloody enough, she finally lowered the cane. 

"Well, girl. You've worn me out. I have to say I'm impressed. You've earned aftercare and a spot in my bed tonight." 

I couldn't help but blush. I would like to think it was the face of the maiden I had taken, so feminine. So girlish. Maybe I would have better control over Arya Stark's face. But Cersei made me question it.

She wasn't the first person who I had taken off of the list. The hound taught me the problem with people. Once you got to know them, you could see from their side as well. And you'd lose a bit of your hatred. And if you got to know too many people, you'd lose all of your hatred, and you'd be left with nothing, you'd be a ravaged victim, instead of the powerful wielder of death. 

I wanted to kill her, and I told myself I would find a way to put her back on my list. The love I felt now, it could pass, I could stay here until it did, and when it passed, I would pull needle out from under the bed, and I would take what was mine. The life I was owed. 

That night when I closed my eyes I tried to think of all of the lives she had harmed, to focus on that for now momentarily before rehearsing my kill list. Sansa, the Direwolf Lady, and she may as well have killed Micah, because she was Joffrey's mother, and if I blamed her for Joffrey's crimes the list would just go on and on...

But those thoughts faded, even as I tried to grasp on to them. Because beside me in bed was Cersei, and she wasn't even using me like the whore I had put myself into. Instead she lay beside me, not touching me, and I wanted to close the gap between our bodies, I wanted to press myself up against her warmth. Her white gown like she was so innocent, so pure. Hatred would well up, but fall back down like waves. 

The pain in my legs suddenly did hit and I cried out. 

"Child?" Cersei woke. 

She opened her arms to me and I sobbed frustrated tears into her chest. She murmured things to me and I could see in my mind's eye her satisfied half smile. She rubbed my back and my nerve endings clung to the motion. Her touch. 

She was happy because she thought the pain had finally hit, that she had won. She had no idea that as I battled with myself she was winning in a whole different way. 


	2. The Problem with a Woman

I realized what the problem was like the sun putting its face up against the morning window. Cersei was a woman. Killing men was like killing an equal, or killing a stone. But killing a woman was like murdering a goddess, or stepping on a flower. The Waif was different. But she never seemed like a woman to me. Maybe she wasn't. To begin with. Maybe that was just her favorite face to steal.

Cersei was gone. And after I registered the pain in my heart that went up to my eyes, like my tears were blood it was pumping, I instinctively threw off the covers and made to get out of bed. The fear in me then calmed and I almost laughed. Who was I? Here, acting like a scared servant? Like the face I had taken had become me. Even so, I did get up and travel to the kitchens briskly, but with more confidence in my step. I wanted to be efficient. I wanted Cersei to like me. I didn't want her to cast me out.

I didn't want to stop seeing her smirk. I was addicted to her manner of speaking. To how shocked and appalled and happily outraged I would feel listening to her, pack insults into the softest of tones. Weaving venom into the fabric of the minds of those around her. 

I wanted her to run her long fingers over my naked skin and whisper nasty things to me. Coo in mock sympathy. I also wanted her to know who I am. The powerful urge building in me to unmask myself, just so I could see the look on her face, maybe even see her before I died. The need to let her know was powerful and confident inside of me. An arrogant idiot I tried to shut up. I told it, _she can't know, not yet, not yet._

When I was cleaning her window she pressed up against me and placed her hand at the small of my back. She rested her chin on my shoulder, then reached around to touch my stomach with her free hand. Both of her hands were so close to intimate areas. They burned into me, reminding me so deeply of where I _really_ wanted her to touch. "I'm glad you're finally getting that speck on the glass cleaned. It's been bothering me for a while. None of the other girls noticed it. You're quite precise, for a servant." She pulled away from me. 

When Cersei touched me I found myself straining against the false skin I was in. Her touch brought me to the surface, claimed the truth of my identity. I realized then that I couldn't lie to her.

~~

She took me into her bed three nights later. When she kissed me, I became myself again. I was Arya Stark, staring into the eyes of the lioness that was Cersei Lannister. 

"I--" I scrambled backwards out of the bed. I swung Needle out from under the bed, and pointed the tip at her throat. "I came to kill you."

She laughed and attempted to swipe the blade away, but I pressed the tip of the blade into her skin, and her face became serious. Her eyes glittered. She understood the power of Needle faster than others did. Realized that even though it was small, it could still kill just like the larger blades. Triumph and pride swelled through me.

"You're Arya Stark."

"Yes. I am." I threw the blade onto the bed. "But I'm not going to kill you." I turned and started to walk away.

Cersei grabbed my shoulder and slammed me into the wall. She pressed the tip of the blade to my throat. "This is finely crafted. A nice little blade isn't it?"

A shiver went through me.

"It'd be ironic, wouldn't it? To die at the hands of your own blade?"

"I think it'd be nice actually. Of the ways to die. Needle's my friend, you see. I trust him. I know he'll always take good care of me, even in death."

"Needle," Cersei said, amused. "Sharp, small and efficient."

She pressed the blade a little deeper into my skin and moved it down, making a small cut. Blood began to trickle, but it was not entirely unpleasant. Breathing was becoming more difficult, and I began to wonder what it would feel like when the blade pressed even deeper.

Cersei lowered the blade. "I'll take good care of it. Don't worry. You won't need it where you're going."

"So, you're not going to kill me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't kill me. And you could have. A life for a life, Arya. A fair trade. You may soon regret the choice you've made, however."

Slow footfalls, entered the room. The boulders that carried The Mountain. He hoisted me up and I wished that I could have been in Cersei's arms as he carried me to the dungeons. She walked beside him and I felt the warmth of her gaze on me.

When he dumped me in a cell I couldn't help but be relieved when he left but devastated as Cersei turned away.  "Wait," I said, desperate, stalling. "What are you going to do to me?"

"We'll see."

Then the door clanged shut, and I started to cry as if I had been hit in the head by a surprise blow. I needed her to be here. I needed to see her face. If only I had been able to hold off turning until after the lovemaking had ended. Though I suppose that might have been worse. At least now, she knew who I was. I wasn't exactly sure why that was a comfort, but it was. I clung to it like a teddy bear, or, like I would cling to Needle, before I went to sleep. 

Shame washed over me when I thought of Jon Snow, and Sansa. But then I realized that Jon Snow would understand, though Sansa would mock me. Hadn't Sansa made the same mistake, with Joffrey? By loving him? I know she loved him once. Before she knew him. That's why she was able to love him. But I liked to think that I fell in love with Cersei because I came to _know_ her. Did falling in love with her for the opposite reason as Sansa fell in love with Joffrey really excuse me though? It felt like Jon Snow would understand, like he would forgive me. I don't know how, but I just felt that it was true. 

When I woke the next morning, sore from the hard ground and dry from dehydration, I realized that I had forgotten to recite my kill list. Then I noticed the light that was falling on me. I gasped and sat up hurriedly. Cersei was standing over me. 


	3. Who I Am

I look up at her with large, pleading eyes. My face burns with the force of her gaze.

"Stand." She says.

I obey.

Her hands close around my throat. My breath hitches. She messages my neck thoughtfully. Her fingers are long and capable, and I'm suddenly aware of how small my neck feels when its clasped between them. She bends down and kisses me, and it's like an explosion takes place behind me eyes, and all I can think is: _I'm Arya Stark, I'm Arya Stark, and she's Cersei Lannister, and she's kissing_ me _and she knows who I_ _am..._

Her tongue slips into my mouth, a welcome invasion that I fight with, dance with.

Her hand slips into my pants and she brushes over my clit, sending electricity through me. Then her finger reaches back and presses at my opening. She gasps. "Have you done this before?"

I shake my head.

"Are you a virgin?"

"Yes. Your grace."

She looked unsure, her eyes glinting warningly, as if she didn't know if I was being sarcastic or not, when I called her 'your grace'. I was unsure whether I was being sarcastic or not. A flicker of fear went threw me. Did my desire to worship this woman prove my disloyalty to my own family?

"Your first time should be in a bed. Come."

This time she does carry me, and I can't suppress a smile. I feel as though I am flying, feathers are her arms around me. Warm, and dangerous. My heart pumps adrenaline at the thought she could kill me at any moment, it's as exciting as dodging a blade right before it touches your neck.

We lie together in her bed. I reach forward and kiss her again. When she pulls away she strokes some of my stray hair behind my ear, stroking my cheek. She looks at my lips thoughtfully. "Do you want this?"

"Yes." I nod.

"Little girls...in love. Love is a dangerous thing Arya, especially at your age."

"I'm a dangerous person, your grace. So I should have dangerous things, shouldn't I? It's only fitting."

She laughs, an unnatural sound that sends a shiver through me. That was when I saw that her eyes were glinting with more than aggression, and her expression was more than thoughtful. It's almost impossible to believe that what I'm seeing in her eyes is _lust._ And she's looking at me in my true form. She runs her long fingers over my hand and clasps them together. Her fingers intertwined with mine.

She lifts the sheets for me, and they move up and around me, their light, the patterns the light creates on them from the half-veiled window like magic. I crawl under her night garment and place my hands on her thighs, mesmerized by her naked flesh, aware of how small my hand appears on her thighs, how small I am compared to her power. Compared to who she is and what she possesses.

As I move up her body, she lifts her garment up and away from her body. It is gone, as she tosses it behind her or aside. It may as well have disappeared.

When my lips trail over her naked skin, I feel as though I am a knight, riding over land I have conquered. Land I have conquered for her. Power rushes through my veins, as she moans and rises underneath me. She digs her nails into my scalp, and the pressure is comforting.

She disrobes me second. After she has peeled my garments away, I climb up and lay my body on hers before she does anything. Naked skin laid upon naked flesh.

She runs her hand down my stomach. "Oh, Arya, what shall I do with you?"

She touches my most sensitive nub, sending electricity up my stomach.

"What do you want to do with me?"

"So many things, my child." Her finger presses towards my opening without entering.

"I'm not a child! I'm of age."

She smiles briefly. "If it's your first time, then that makes you a child. Metaphorically speaking some would not consider you a true adult woman until you have explored the adult world. You are young, dear Arya."

Her long fingers moved with precision up towards my clit, but still were not inside me. I found my hips naturally moving impatiently. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not. I quite like that I'm your first, actually."

"So it's another thing you can hold over the Starks." I was now grinding myself impatiently against her hand.

"Careful." She said. She stopped moving her hand and as if to obey I stopped moving my hips as well. "Now if you're good," she said, kissing my stomach. "I may have a position for you." She planted a lower kiss. "But you have to gain my trust first." With that her tongue touched the wetness between my legs and I was lost in the smooth sensations of her tongue. Then her slender fingers pierced my opening like a sword and it was perfect, the pain complimenting the tender movements of her tongue the way bitter coffee went with a sweet pastry.

"I wish to serve you, My Queen."


End file.
